


Management of Miscreants

by Pokemoon



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4410581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokemoon/pseuds/Pokemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three years since the war ended, but Alex's own war rages on. He tries. He really does. Sure, he wasn't valedictorian like every other member of his family, but salutatorian isn't bad either, right? Luckily, a series of events involving a girl, a pygmy goat, and a lot of alcohol lands Alex the one thing he wants most: a promotion. But does he really want to work at Office 420?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Management of Miscreants

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually think my summaries suck, in fact, I like to think I write better summaries than actual fiction, but that one sucked pretty badly, so thanks if you're reading this.

** Chapter 1 – The Promotion **

Alexander Williamson did not suffer through years of five am marathons to be assigned to a life of grunt work. He gasped, and panted, and vomited for the sake of upholding his family’s honor. But here he is, getting coffee and laundry for his boss, Richard Buchanan. Or as Alex likes to call him, Dick. The rookie Enforcer weaves through cluttered desks and his fellow Rank V Enforcers, finishing the last leg of his ‘assignment’ only slightly out of breath. He juggles a piping hot cup of coffee with a hanger of black ties in order to rap on Dick’s door precisely three times.

“You’re slow, Williamson,” barks his beefy boss as a way of saying ‘come in’. The suit he wears is only a _little_ baggy, but Alex can’t bring himself to say anything because just as his own days of sweat and tears are finally over, Dick’s recent divorce has pushed him to begin a healthier lifestyle. “I had to finish my oatmeal without anything to wash it down, Josephine soiled my tie ten minutes ago, and you need to take Beatrice to her father-daughter dance in half an hour.” Though, sometimes Alex is sorely tempted to mention it in addition to taking a jab at his boss’s receding hairline.

_“Who is Beatrice?”_ wonders Alex while handing Dick a fresh tie. _“Maybe…”_ Maybe he’s been assigned to guard a girl named Beatrice! Does Alex dare to hope? _“No,”_ he scolds himself, distracting his excited mind with the stench of goat piss (because Josephine is an incontinent pygmy goat). How did it even get on Dick’s tie?!

“No time,” interrupts Dick, stealing his dirty tie from Alex’s hands and discarding it on the floor of his office, “Put on something nice.” A hand on his shoulder propels Alex out of Dick’s office.

Alex is _ready_. He’s ready to go on his first real assignment. He’s ready to thank his boss and lucky stars. He’s ready to start calling the man ‘Richard’.

“No funny business with my daughter, boy.”

Aaaand… Alex is no longer ready for anything but the day he leaves this useless position.

Sure, he wasn’t valedictorian like his two older brothers and sister, but salutatorian isn’t bad either, so why is he stuck as Dick’s errand boy?

_“Everybody has to start somewhere,”_ Alex tells himself, _“There’s no way I’ll be stuck here for the rest of my life, right? Right.”_ Alex straightens his uniform and runs a hand through his perpetually messy hair. _“Alexander Williamson, you’ve got a lady to escort,”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s got work again.” It’s not a question. At 7:01 pm Beatrice slams the door after one look at her escort’s face, disappointed, but not surprised. She doesn’t know why she even bothers to hope. The frustrated teen yanks an ornate golden necklace from around her neck and throws it across her dorm room as hard as she can. It softly skips across her bed, wrinkling the silky sheets, but having little other effect. She snatches it up again, ready to chuck the symbol of her father’s ‘love’ for her straight into the mirror, only to realize with an angry groan that it’s the only necklace that matches her dress. Despite her shaking hands, Beatrice manages to redo the chain, fix her hair, and smooth out her dress. She quickly grabs her heels and purse on the way to the door. Taking one last deep breath, she opens it again and holds her belongings out for the young Enforcer waiting at her door to carry.

He takes it without complaint. “Good evening, miss,” he greets politely, “My name is Alex.” Beatrice brushes past him, barely acknowledging his existence.

Every year her school unfailingly holds a father-daughter dance and every year her father unfailingly pushes her into the arms of his assistant. Alex isn’t the ugliest one so far, but he is _definitely_ the most… He’s the least masculine one so far – somewhere between scrawny and lithe. Her favorite assistant is the one who took her to the dance two years ago. Beatrice knows it’s unfair to all the assistants that have and will come after him, but, by the Great Ancestor, there was a _real_ man.

Alex stares in curiosity at the dreamy expression on his charge’s face. What could she be thinking about? Or _who_? Not him, if her look of abhorrence and the door in his face earlier is anything to judge by.

“So,” Beatrice drawls, finally focusing her attention on the rookie Enforcer at her side, “Do you know how to dance?”

“Do I know how to dance?” scoffs Alex, eager to impress the teenager. “How do you think I passed j-junior year?” His face flushes at the minute stutter, so caught up in resurfacing nightmares of his junior year he doesn’t even realize Beatrice stopped paying attention to him.

Beatrice is trying to be positive, but his answer is more concerning than a flustered ‘not really’ would have been. _“Forget him!”_ she sniffs, feeling a bout of irrational anger swell inside her, _“He can do his military dancing at his Enforcer office with his fellow Enforcers and my dad!”_ Since her father isn’t here, she can dance a little more provocatively, drink a little more than usual, and stay out a little later than strictly allowed. It’s a good thing he’s not here. She’s glad he’s not here.

“Are you okay? Your eyes are a little watery.” Alex reaches over and brushes a stray tear from Beatrice’s eye. She’s suddenly acutely aware of his close proximity and her cheeks heat up as time bends around them, his concerned gaze piercing straight into her pained heart. “Do you have allergies?”

Or not.

Beatrice slaps his hand away, grabs her shoes, and stalks over to a nearby bench. The evening sun and large fountain are salt on the wound of the completely unromantic atmosphere. She steals a glance back where Alex is standing dumbly in front of the banquet hall, still holding her studded black leather purse. _“What was I thinking?”_ she berates herself. If it were Gil escorting her… Beatrice remembers the dance two years ago and how she held the envy of all her friends and enemies alike.

Beatrice slips into a pair of strappy black heels and struts back over to where Alex waits, now three inches taller – almost the same height as him. She holds out her hand and Alex hands over her purse without missing a beat. He holds out his arm, which Beatrice ignores.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You don’t want to dance?”

“Not with you.”

“Why? I’m pretty good.”

“Believe me, you’re not.”

One thing led to another, and Beatrice somehow ended up swaying slowly in Alex’s arms. His arms are surprisingly solid beneath the rough, black cloth of his uniform, which smells of clean linen. Other couples dance around them, but Beatrice is swaddled warmly inside his strong presence. His hold around her waist is loose, unlike the possessive grip most men favor. She finds it increasingly difficult to stop herself from resting her head on his shoulder, yet Alex maintains a respectful distance from her as his eyes survey their surroundings like a hawk.

“You’re not a bad dancer,” Beatrice concedes, in an attempt to garner Alex’s attention.

“Uh… thanks…” he mumbles, gently guiding her away from the corner they’ve danced themselves into, wary of a suspicious man cutting his way through the crowd. Inexperienced in the ways of women, Alex is focused solely on protecting his charge, unaware of the noncommittal ring to his reply. He tentatively adjusts his hold on the soft curve of Beatrice’s waist in fear of ruffling her feathers, blind to her growing affections.

Alex brings his gaze to his immediate vicinity in case someone else slipped past his watch. It only takes him a second to ascertain Beatrice’s safety, but when he looks up, the suspicious man is gone. The moment he realizes his mistake, the man reappears, pressed closely Beatrice. He’s a full head taller than Alex, which becomes glaringly obvious as he leers down at the young Enforcer.

Alex’s expression of pure horror sharply contrasts with the way Beatrice’s face lights up. “Gil!” she squeals, twisting away from her dance partner.

“Hey, kid,” the man grins – tall, dark, and handsome, with a bright and sincere smile. Even in the dimly lit banquet hall, Alex can make out the uniform identifying him as an Enforcer. Alex wonders whether the leer he saw was a mere trick of the light. “Who’s the beau?”

“Him?” Beatrice asks flippantly, suddenly disenchanted by her escort, “He’s just another assistant.” Compared to Gilbert, Alex is a little boy. Beatrice has no idea why Gilbert is at her school dance – she hasn’t even seen him in months - but she hopes that he’ll take her away very soon.

“You’re not going to introduce us?”

“I was getting to that,” pouts Beatrice. “Gil, meet Alex. He’s my dad’s current assistant. Alex, meet Gilbert. He was my dad’s assistant before he got promoted.” Alex doesn’t miss the way her voice leans on the last word.

“Nice to meet you, sir.” Alex salutes – the proper way of greeting a senior Enforcer.

Gilbert slips an arm around Beatrice’s shoulder and draws her away from Alex. “No need to be so stiff,” he smirks. “I’ll take her off your hands.” Gilbert’s arm slides down to her waist while he leads her off into the crowd, but then it dips even lower and Alex’s jaw drops open.

Alex angrily marches forward, ready to tear the girl away from Gilbert’s wandering hand, but is waylaid by the sea of people, barely able to catch the dirty smirk Gilbert shoots him over Beatrice’s head.

Despite his best attempts to resist it, the push and pull of the crowd eventually lands Alex at the entrance of the banquet hall. He tries to force himself back in and separate his charge from the dirty Enforcer, but when that doesn’t work, he paces back and forth in front of the banquet hall, waiting for his chance. Alex quickly grows impatient and decides to look for another way in. Feeling discouraged after failing to pick the lock of three different maintenance doors and giving a decent effort at breaking down a fourth, Alex makes a heartfelt prayer to the Great Ancestor and decides to head home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He shivers while walking down an artificially illuminated street, the thought of leaving Beatrice with Gilbert weighing heavily on his consciousness. Alex stares up at the moon, trying to gauge the time. He knows it’s late, but he would have to expose his hand to the freezing cold night air to check his watch. After figuring out it’s sometime between seven o’clock and midnight – probably much closer to midnight - Alex then tries to gauge how much longer until he reaches the bus stop. Maybe five minutes?

_“One one thousand… two one thousand… three one thousand…”_ Alex loses count after thirty four one thousand, but makes it to the bus stop two and one fifth rounds of the national anthem later. _“It took about five minutes and twenty eight seconds,”_ he concludes. _“I wonder how long-“_

“Hey.” The hairs on Alex’s neck stand still, but it’s not from the cold. A heavy weight is dropped on his shoulders as a warm figure presses itself to his back. “You look cold.”

“Where’s Beatrice?” he squeaks, jumping away and almost falling backwards over a wooden bench. Gilbert catches Alex by a flailing hand and pulls him back upright.

“In her dorm,” lies the older man smoothly, not wanting to waste time talking about teenage girls.

“Oh… Alright.” Alex accepts the answer easily, never realizing it could be a lie.

Naïve and easily flustered. Lithe, yet distinctly masculine. Strongly patriotic, but a terrible singer. Alex is everything Gilbert loves – in a toy, that is. Except for the singing, but Gilbert can think of several other things for Alex to occupy his mouth with.

Alex pulls his hand back, but Gilbert continues to hold it. “You can let go now,” he informs the taller man.

“I don’t want to.”

Grabbing a fistful of soft, brown hair with his other hand, Gilbert pulls Alex into a kiss. The first, chaste contact has Alex trying to pull away in surprise, but when a wet tongue licks its way into his mouth, his mind goes blank in disbelief. Alex faintly registers a slimy appendage brushing over his own tongue before curling around it and then proceeds to explore the roof of his mouth with light, playful licks. The hand in his hair tightens, pulling Alex closer as well as giving his stupefied brain a jump start.

Alex first tries to push Gilbert away with his dominant hand, but it’s pressed firmly into the small of his back. Next, Alex tries to pound at Gilbert’s chest with his non-dominant hand, but nothing happens. Then, Alex tries to jerk his entire head away from Gilbert, but the hand fisting his hair prevents any movement. With his brain short-circuiting and breath rapidly running out, Alex is left with one last option: bite.

Alex chomps down as hard as he can; the metallic taste of blood floods his mouth almost immediately and Gilbert finally pulls away. _“Victory,”_ grimaces the shorter man.

“You know,” Gilbert chuckles, wiping fresh blood off his lips, “most people don’t try to bite my tongue off when I kiss them. But when they do, they don’t end up biting their own tongue.”

Alex covers his mouth, where his bleeding tongue throbs in pain. “Most people don’t randomly kiss me,” he retorts, “But when they do, they’re not a guy.”

Gilbert shakes his head, straightening up. Another irritating smirk plays on his lips as he walks off. “Your bus is here, Williamson.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“Most people don’t randomly kiss me, but when they do, they’re not a guy.”_

“Ma-“

“Don’t call me that.” Gilbert lights a cigarette, inhaling deeply before blowing out the smoke, his lips curl into a smirk around the stick of nicotine at the memory of the previous night.

“Give me one too, king!” asks the annoyance next to him, not at all offset by Gilbert’s cold response.

“Don’t call me that either.” He remembers Alex’s panting breaths, flushed cheeks, and indignant expression. Forget not being randomly kissed by a guy before - Gilbert wagers that Alex has never been kissed before by anyone. The thought of stealing his first kiss is almost enough to make Gilbert forget he’s working on a weekend. Almost. But he can’t because an outstretched hand is waving itself in front of his face, begging for Gilbert to find a different best friend.

“But you’re my one and only king,” pouts said best friend. He grows tired of waving his hand in the air and instead grabs the box of cigarettes from Gilbert’s hand.

If it was anybody else, Gilbert would have broken their hand in an instant, but he makes an exception this time because it’s Robert and he’s known Robert since their very first roll call eighteen years ago. Gilbert waits for the brown haired, blue eyed devil-in-disguise to take a cigarette before snatching the box back. “If somebody heard you say that, you’d be thrown into prison for treason.”

Robert ignores the warning in favor of turning a crumpled cigarette around in his hand. “Did you sit on this?” he asks, wrinkling his nose in distaste. He should’ve known something was wrong by the state of the box.

“It’s still good,” Gilbert shrugs. Without thinking, he tries to place the box of cigarettes back into the pocket of his jacket. He quickly corrects himself and stuffs the box into the pocket of his pants before setting off with a purpose, a predatory smirk stretching across his face.

“Where are you going?” Robert calls after him. When he doesn’t receive a response, he adds, “At least give me a lighter!”

Gilbert reaches into his pocket again and pulls out a lighter, which he tosses over his shoulder. He doesn’t know where it lands, but he doesn’t care. It’s time to pay his new toy a visit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“Your bus is here, Williamson.”_

Damn him! _Snap!_ Damn it!

Alex tosses another pencil in the trash can at the memory of the previous night. The fact that Gilbert knows Alex’s last name even though Alex never told him isn’t concerning since every Enforcer who doesn’t live under a rock knows about the black sheep of the Williamsons, but the- the… the thing that happened before went beyond concerning. It was absolutely disgusting!

The thought of being kissed by a man is almost enough to make Alex forget he’s working on a weekend. Almost. But he can’t because the man in question is the reason Alex is being forced to write this accursed letter.

_Mr. Buchanan, I offer you my most sincere apologies for failing to escort Beatrice home safely. My irresponsibility last night has proven me to be worthy of my ~~lowly~~ position as a Rank V Enforcer, but I hope this ~~farce~~_ _incident does not weigh too heavily on ~~my performance review~~ our future relationship. It was ~~totally Gilbert’s fault~~ my fault for not being vigilant enough concerning the safety of ~~your daughter~~ my principle. This letter ~~is utterly pointless~~ has allowed me to reflect on how ~~much you suck~~ unreliable I am, and I ~~pray you get run over~~ beg of you to allow me to continue to work as your ~~slave~~ assistant._

Alex sighs and rubs his temples, finally done with the first of many punishments. On the back of his chair, Gilbert’s jacket tempts him in the cold and lonely office, but Alex refuses to cave in. Wearing Gilbert’s jacket would be like a sign of defeat. His entire body shivers at the thought of losing to Gilbert, like a cold draft is blowing through the office, temporarily forgetting that a cold draft _is_ blowing through the office because it isn’t economical to turn on the heater for only one person.

He glances at his watch. 5:27. All he wanted to do today was sleep in, but then Dick had to call him and rant on and on about Beatrice and irresponsibility. It took a while for Alex’s sleep muddled brain to understand the situation, but it became irritatingly clear once he did. Gilbert claimed to have escorted Beatrice home safely when in actuality he dumped her in a hallway where she was found this morning. But Alex can’t bring himself to admit that he let a suspicious Enforcer sweep Beatrice away, so now it looks like _he_ was the one to let a teenage girl get dead drunk before ditching her somewhere.

Alex glances at his watch again. 5:28. It’s already freezing, and it’ll only get colder. He stands up, ready to find a discrete place to burn Gilbert’s jacket, when a flash of inspiration hits him like the time his great aunt Mabel was struck by lightning. She was never quite the same after that…

Alex snatches Gilbert’s jacket off the back of his chair and slips his arms through the sleeves. It droops awkwardly off his shoulders, but it’s warm where he’s been leaning against it for the entire afternoon. Alex reaches into the right pocket where it’s a little heavier and pulls out a box of cigarettes. He wrinkles his nose in distaste before disposing of it in the trash can. He knew he tasted something gross last night. _“I don’t know what game he’s playing at,”_ broods Alex with a vindictive glint in his eyes, _“But two can play it. I’ll wear his jacket for as long as it’s cold and when spring comes I’ll burn it with-“_

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” Speak of the devil. Alex keeps his back to the door, but he already knows who it is. He can imagine Gilbert in his dark-haired, tan-skinned glory leaning against the door frame.

“Gilbert.”

Slow, self-assured, and grating footsteps resonate through Alex’s mind. “Gilbert who?” he plays along with barely concealed disgust.

 A deep voice whispers in his ear, warm breaths tickle his skin, “Gilbert finds it adorable that you’re wearing his coat.”

“Get off me, fag.” Alex finally turns around and shoves the older man away. The fact that he comes face to face with a starched, white collar and black necktie shows he wasn’t very successful. “What are you doing here?”

“The real question,” Gilbert asks, taking a few steps back so Alex can see the shit-eating grin on his face, “Is what you’re doing here.”

“I think you already know the answer to that,” Alex shoots back sourly. “What kind of person would let a teenage girl get completely stoned and wasted before dumping her in a hallway!? The least you could do is bring her back to her room!”

“Oh yeah… I remember Dick was always obsessed with his daughter. You know, he keeps that goat because she was in love with it when she was a kid.”

“Of course you still left her out in the open because it’s _my_ career on the line, not yours.”

Gilbert shrugs sheepishly – a gesture Alex doesn’t think suits him at all. “I was planning to take her back to her room, but she seemed too out of it to fuck.”

“And too young,” Alex adds in case Gilbert forgot that Beatrice is only a high school freshman.

“Eh, potato potato.”

“It’s tomato tomato,” Alex corrects matter-of-factly, “and no! You’re at least twice her age!”

“Eh, potato potato,” Gilbert repeats. “It’s a shame, but I need by coat back.” He takes a step forward, once again drawing uncomfortably close to Alex, and puts his hands on the young Enforcer’s shoulders. He leans down so they’re face to face, his dark eyes glinting maliciously, and steals a kiss before slipping his jacket off Alex’s shoulders and walking out.

Alex watches his back disappear around the corner, at a loss for words. He was kissed by a man. Again.

Shortly after, Dick walks through the office doors, huffing and puffing. “Was that Gilbert Ainsworth back there?” he asks Alex quizzically. His new assistant fumes silently without giving any acknowledgment of his boss’s arrival. “Williamson. Earth to Williamson.” Dick waves his hand in front of Alex’s face. “Man,” he sighs, “You’re fucking useless.”

“Excuse me?” Alex asks in disbelief.

“I said, ‘You’re fucking useless’,” Dick repeats. “All your siblings were stunning Enforcers! They entered my Office at Rank II and the pride I felt when they were promoted to Rank I and put in charge of their own Office can’t even be described in words. You? I’m glad you’re leaving, but for an entirely different reason.”

“Excuse me?” Alex asks again, still in disbelief.

“You’re leaving, Williamson. I owed your father a favor, so I got you promotion and you’ll be starting in Office 420 as a Rank IV on Monday.” Seeing the maelstrom of emotions on Alex’s face, Dick softens. “I tried to give you a chance. I know it’s hard to live in the shadows of your older siblings – I’ve got two, myself – but this is the last straw. I’m sorry. Good evening, Williamson.”

Dick sidesteps Alex and retreats into his office, intent on finishing some work before having to head back to an empty home.

Alex exits Office 110 numbly, barely able to process his boss’s – former boss’s – words. The only part he caught – the only part worth catching – runs on a continuous loop through his mind. _“I got you a promotion.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I don't usually write such long chapters, but this somehow happened! I kind of like this one, to be honest. I should probably update a fic I've already started instead of posting new ones, but whatever. Please comment/review! Seriously. Please.


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